Dogs, a cat and magic
Keith was especially vigilant as he and Hunk accompanied Lotor to the drule village. The Black Lion knew they still considered him a prince; it was Zarkon they named without any frills or titles. Here on Aris, though, the refugees had remained pacific and Keith didn't anticipate any problem.
Besides, it would be a good occasion to gauge their attitude regarding the demoted prince.
Lotor cut an impressive figure in one of the royal robes. He wore the most subdued, a deep purple and blue one that had a discreet white spidery motif alongside the sleeves. The ingenious overlapping of light silk panels flowed around the drule's thin frame like a caress. It looked very soft and comfortable.
The ex prince felt self conscious and a bit apprehensive. It was the first time he would be in the presence of his peers since their defeat at the hands of Galaxy Garrison.
In truth, he was ashamed. The empire was supposed to bring prosperity and power, and except for the few Kingdoms that withdrew from the conflict, Doomites and a number of other kingdoms had fought till the bitter end. Now, they were vanquished, something Drules hated above all.
If the enclave chose to have him answer for all the absent leaders, there wasn't much he could do about it.
His Father had never put much effort in his relations with the other Drule Kingdoms. After the defeat, he poured out all of his energy to infiltrate Galaxy Garrison's government by manipulating Amalgamus, and worm his way in whatever corruption there was to be found. Zarkon had changed tactics and tried to parasite Garrison from the very core.
In those years, Zarkon never meddled in Garrison's treatment of refugees and prisoners. In Lotor's opinion, it was a miscalculation on his father's part. The drules were bound to consider this treason, at least until the deception was revealed. The truth of the matter came to be known, but Lotor didn't think it would change their opinion: Zarkon had shown a total indifference to the standing Drule Kingdoms, refugees and war prisoners alike.
And that included himself, who had languished in a cell for years, until it was decided he was needed again.
Zarkon's talent for gathering support was nothing short of stupendous. It boggled Lotor's mind that he still had followers. He probably owed this to the fact he mastered the art of exploiting many species' penchant for riches and power. He had corrupt moles just about everywhere.
Lotor sighed. He might as well stop this mental thread, and think of something else.
Like how to upgrade the most extraordinary machine ever built.
Voltron's abilities were legendary, but Lotor was certain that the mecha truly unique superiority was the binding of the pilots to the machine through the five spirits. But the range of physical moves the gigantic robot could make was limited by its mechanical nature. Lotor tried to envision the mecha moving more naturally, say, like his own artificial limbs... And that started and entirely new way to ponder the problem.
Why not start with something organic?
'I need a cat,' he thought.
Deeply distracted, Lotor was startled to find himself inside the enclave, dozens of drules stopping in their tracks to stare at him.
Drules prefer not to show weakness. This had been deeply ingrained into his behaviour, so he automatically lifted his chin proudly to meet their gaze.
A surprising number of dogs wandered to the trio. It seemed every mangy mutt and their cousins found safe haven in the drule village. They joyously greeted the newcomers, all wagging tails and toothy smiles as they swamped the two humans and the ex-prince.
Lotor didn't have any experience with pets; the only 'domestic' animal he'd ever met on a daily basis was the infamous Coba. Nevertheless, he imitated Hunk, scratching behind the ears of an enormous mix breed.
The horrible beast was ugly, but had such an amiable grin that one couldn't help but find the monster endearing. The dog growled in pleasure and flopped at Lotor's feet, its four paws pedalling in the air and his tongue lolling out comically in an attempt to gather more affection. Keith and Hunk chuckled and even Lotor snorted in amusement.
At this scene, the drules all relaxed considerably and a few came closer. They bowed, but did not grovel, which pleased the Commander.
Lotor answered with a slight salute.
"I would like to meet the maker of these," asked Lotor without preambles. A mousy drule came forward.
"Certainly, my Prince, if you will follow me..."
They traversed the village and entered one of the barracks. After a few drab corridors, they came to an unadorned door.
"In here, my prince."
The drule retired without knocking, so Lotor himself rapped firmly on the door. It opened slowly, but they couldn't see anyone. Keith kept his hand on his lazon gun, just in case, and the three entered cautiously, taking in the little flat.
Every available surface was painted black, decorated with a myriad of multicolored sigils and symbols. The furniture was heavily cushioned, and several squares of fabric covered the floor, overlapping each other to form a continuous, bumpy mat.
Seated cross legged on an elevated pile of these, a bizarre looking drule smiled benignly at them. Keith was reminded of a dark, pointed eared Buddha, one with insane robes not unlike those Lotor was offered, but in a riot of clashing colours. The effect on the rotund figure of the alien was almost comical, but he nevertheless projected an aura of authority.
The small drule was bald as a marble, dark as night, and round like a cherub. His weird lambent eyes shone softly.
Lotor took it all in a glance, but he stared, captivated, at the being currently purring on the drule's lap: a drulean cat.
They jumped when the drule spoke: his low-pitched voice was completely at odds with his appearance.
"So," he began. "You are Zarkon's infamous son."
He caressed his pet which looked disturbingly like Haggar's cat, except it was jet black. He had the same luminous, golden eyes, and seemed much more sedate then Coba.
Ever interested in animals, Hunk asked:
"Doesn't your cat have problems with all the dogs running around in the village?"
"Not at all," boomed the drule's rumbling voice. "He's extremely lazy, and not perceived as a threat. My name is Barok, by the way, and the cat is Soval."
This broke the initial awkwardness.
"I came to personally thank you for these," said Lotor, fingering one of the silky panels of his robes.
"You wear them well, Prince." The cat was squirming. "All right, Soval, go see him."
The cat stretched and ambled sinuously toward Lotor, and in a startling jump, perched on his left shoulder where it proceeded to lick a paw.
"Soval likes you!" Exclaimed Barok. "Unprecedented!" He smiled. "Well, I'm not all that surprised. I made these robes for you when I learned of your sacrifice."
"Sacrifice?" Questioned Lotor.
"You renounced the one you dearly love to insure her happiness, did you not? That takes spine."
Lotor gaped. "Surely, you couldn't make this in days?"
"Of course I could."
The drule lifted a pudgy finger, and suddenly hundreds of gossamer threads lifted from the fabric strewn on the floor and started to weave themselves. The stupefied humans drew their gun and aimed at the drule out of pure reflex.
"You're a sorcerer," stated Lotor.
Barok didn't seem to register the weapons. He smiled ruefully.
"Indeed. We haven't revealed ourselves to one of your ilk for quite a while, haven't we? You, Prince Lotor, have managed to impress us. A true heart didn't seem to exist in Doom's court. But you proved to have a deeper soul then we'd assumed. That is why I decided to craft the robes, as a mark of our respect."
"Zarkon dismissed us," Barak continued, "and I assure you this is quite mutual. But now we realise you are not like him. The robes are more then just for show, prince. The symbols woven within should partly protect you from the spirits."
Keith and Hunk looked at each other and lowered their weapon. Keith shrugged. The sorcerer could easily have shrouded them in the threads to suffocate them, but the drule just didn't seem threatening.
The sorcerer rose, balancing his bulk with some difficulty.
"And if you will allow it, Prince, I would like to extend the protection by reinforcing the sigils Kovak painted on you."
Lotor looked at the Commander as if asking permission. Keith nodded, but asked:
"What would this magic entail?"
"Just integrate the sigils to his soul, like a spiritual tattoo, if you will."
Keith reasoned that the sorcerer, being so powerful, could have wrecked havoc on Aris. Instead, he had remained hidden, peacefully weaving robes for his peers. Keith had no doubt where the villagers' colourful garments came from one source only. He acquiesced.
Lotor shrugged. "Anything that can help..."
"I must warn you that the process is a bit unsettling, though," said Barok.
"If it's anything like the witch's magic, I'd be surprised if it wasn't," commented Lotor.
"How's the traitor, anyway?" Asked Barok with curiosity.
"Last I saw her," reported Lotor, "She was struggling with the Amadan stone. It appeared a daunting task."
"It should be. Its power and hers are totally opposed. It might kill her if she insists..."
"She'd do anything for Father, much in the same way, I suppose, I'd do anything for Allura."
Hunk shivered. "Haggar and Zarkon? Now that's a visual I did not need!" He whispered, shuddering.
"Don't worry, gold boy. It won't happen. Father just uses her."
"That is rather sad," commented Keith, feeling almost sorry for the witch.
"Both sad and dangerous." Lotor has a sudden thought. "I do wonder what happened to Coba. She was quite attached to the monster."
"That I can answer, Prince," said Barok. "Our cats and the Opponents repulse each other. The more Haggar drew on their power, the more distant he no doubt became. He probably left to bind with another witch or sorcerer."
"Bind?"
"Our cats choose us, not the other way around. I'm told earth cats also do this. Soval and I are perfectly matched, see, I'm horribly lazy myself, and I love to eat."
While he spoke, he sauntered around in the room, the flying threads pushing themselves out of his way. Keith was amazed. Such power! He was glad the jovial sorcerer didn't seem to be a maniac like that witch.
The drule uncovered a cookie platter on a low table. The cat jumped from Lotor's shoulder directly to the plate and helped himself. Barak lifted the plate, at the same time filching several cookies and eating them, then presenting the platter to Hunk, cat and all.
Hunk shrugged and took one. They were delicious. He said so, and Barak beamed. Love of food was a universal constant to some, Keith mused, smiling. Hunk had just made another friend.
A finished square of light fabric fell to the floor, joining the others.
The threads stopped weaving and returned to their own squares. Barak deposited the platter and took his cat in his arms.
"So, shall we bind those sigils?"
Lotor looked up hopefully. "Would it liberate me from trailing pilots?"
"Maybe. You'll have to test it to establish a new distance. But don't count on miles. The Opponents are powerful and in full hunt mode."
"Will it incapacitate me?"
"Maybe a few minutes, no more. Your nature should be receptive to such symbols."
"Commander?" Lotor inquired, looking at Keith hopefully. Keith was also fed up with the need to be constantly guarding the ex-prince.
"I'd have to see the process. Is that possible?"
The question was directed at Barok. The sorcerer nodded.
"You will not even feel anything. Only the prince will."
"All right, then. Hunk will wait outside."
Hunk was used to Keith's reasoning, and knew he was asked to step out in case something went wrong, so he could get the others. He didn't think it would be necessary, any guy who had such good taste for cookies was ok in his book, but he didn't comment and stepped out, doing the subtle, almost unperceivable sign to Keith that he understood. They were practising the Lost Net sign language, and it proved an invaluable asset.
Lance taught them the signs, and he had a lot of fun with it, ceaselessly fingering them outrageous comments, especially when they were in the company of important people and so couldn't burst out laughing.
When Hunk had retired, Keith turned to Lotor, and they looked in expectance at the sorcerer.
"Please lie down, Prince," offered Barok, presenting a deep sofa. Lotor did, some apprehension showing on his face. Soval came to rest on his stomach, purring as Lotor caressed him. He was grateful to the animal: if the sorcerer had affection similar to that Haggar showed to her beloved Coba, he was in no danger. Barok would not risk his precious pet.
"Let's begin."
***** ***** *****
This chapter was supposed to end farther, but I'm swamped! Between a new formation, the choir, and two snowstorms back to back, the week was exhausting. It snowed so much that my faithful snowmobile barely made it up the rural road. And just as I had succeeded in making a decent trail, a second snow storm hit and a foot of snow fell on top. *Sigh* I have to travel to the city today. I don't expect to have much more time next week. But I'm doing my best! Chapters will come. And I'm susceptible to emotional blackmail in the form of reviews!